a/n: Written for my besties but I hope all of you will like it too. Rereading DH and I felt that we find Hermione healing the boys but surely she needed some care too (before the Manor).

The steady, unrelenting downpour had chased them to their new location near the coast. The persistent sound of rain pattering down on their canvas, the dull grey overcast sky and the sodden landscapes did little to cheer his friends up, both of whom were quietly avoiding a full-blown argument about their differences in options about the Hallows.

The third evening since their escape from Xenophilius', Ron once again found himself mediating between Harry and Hermione. As always, Hermione had raked up Harry's nerves by being her usual self, proclaiming a little too persistently about the futility of pursuing 'delusional' quests rather than 'practical' goals. As expected, it had ticked Harry off who rudely announced that yes, Xenophilius was right, yes, she was limited in her thoughts. As Hermione sent him a fiery glare Harry snapped that he'd be the one to take up the watch and marched off. Ron did not miss Harry's fingers clasping inside his pocket where he knew Harry now carried the snitch. Groaning quietly to himself he turned around to find Hermione rooted on the spot, still glaring at Harry's retreating form before she spun around her heels and walked off towards their beds.

He ran his fingers through his hair exhaustedly as he collapsed on the old, matted couch. His stomach groaned but it ignored it, massaging the back of his neck and his sore shoulders.

Did he agree with Harry's theory? Well, he couldn't deny that parts of it did make sense although Harry seemed to be speculating quite a lot. But, then again, the Pevaralls could have been the ancestors to both the Potters and the Gaunts; the old Pureblood lines were all interrelated after all.

But at the same time, Hermione was right too. Dumbledore's instructions were clear and he believed the man, more so now than ever. Dumbledore knew what he was doing, his instructions were pretty clear. With the Horcruxes, at least they had made some kinda progress; they had the sword of Gryffindor, for Merlin sake! If only they could just somehow track the rest of them soon and finish them off without You-Know-Who being any wiser (or while he was still engrossed in his quest of the Elder wand as Harry suggested), they still had a chance.

And then there was the book Dumbledore had left Hermione. It did point them towards the Hallows. It was all rather confusing and not a great thing while they were running for their lives while being terribly outnumbered and underskilled. He knew Harry wasn't wrong in his frustration. But Hermione was right when she urged them to focus on what seemed to have more definitive answers.

He let out a soft groan, a headache slowly beginning to gather strength definitely driven by hunger. They ought to stick together at a time like this. Unfortunately, this was the biggest huddle of all. Their quest of the Horcruxes had come to a ruddy halt in the cold war between Hermione and Harry. He glanced to his right where he could see Harry sitting at the entrance of the tent, his form hunched forward, undoubtedly trying to open the snitch. There was no point talking to Harry now; pestering him would only make him more defensive. He turned around at the curtained partition that separated their sleeping arrangement from the living room. He'd have to ask Hermione to tone it down a notch, give the bloke some time, and Ron knew, Harry would get back on track. But talking with either now was a tricky task; their frayed nerves and lack of nourishment made them rather prone to snapping. And then there was the fact that all that had been building between him and Hermione had come to a crossroads when he left. The guilt and regret were overpowering.

He sat contemplating on how to approach Hermione for a while before pushing himself off the couch as he picked up their empty mugs from the table. Back in their small kitchen, he placed the kettle on the boil, mentally phrasing and rephrasing his opening sentences. There was a barrier of sorts between them, he was still unsure about where they stood with each other now.

It took a while for the ice-cold water to heat up and he waited, tapping his fingers on the countertop before it whistled and he was able to make a fresh cup of weak tea. Their rations were running low again. They didn't quite have the luxury of enjoying a hot brew more than once a day but he reckoned, he'd just forgo his share the next morning; she would need one now.

The flap of the canvas made the familiar whoosh sound and Ron, who had been deeply engrossed in his thoughts, almost missed the soft gasp from her. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, he was caught totally off-guard at the sight in front of him.

She was turned away from him, her t-shirt raised up on her back, her black bra-strap in stark contrast to her pale, undernourished skin visible even in the dim light. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, few locks of hair had escaped from the bind... She turned over her shoulder but not enough to meet his eyes.

"I- erm-'' he fumbled, scratching the back of his head with one hand while still holding her cup in the other. "Thought you could do with some tea," he added weakly, raising the cup as if to provide proof. He wanted to avert his eyes, and perhaps he should have left altogether, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. The closeness that had brewed between them since his poisoning the previous year had brought them to a place where they were more than best friends and yet, the impending war had not made it easy for them to cross that last threshold no matter how much either of them wanted. And then he had left her- allowed the Horcrux to sow the seeds of doubt about her feelings for him. She didn't yet know what the Horcrux had shown him but even without that blow, Ron was unsure if and when she'd find in her heart to forgive him. However, the episode at Lovegoods' had somehow thawed the iciness a little. As his eyes adjusted better to the dim light of the space, he was finally able to see that at least he had not interrupted her in the process of undressing.

"What-" he gasped quietly as he hurriedly placed the cup near her small bedside table, balancing it on top of a couple of books, and moved ahead, breathing deeply as he pulled out his wand.

'Lumos'

He heard her suck in a breath but she continued to look away, for some strange reason neither shying away nor bothering to adjust her shirt as he expected she would, while he cast the wand-light on her back. She seemed to have scratched her back against sharp edges which had left behind a fair number of cuts and scratches that covered almost all her back, right up to her waist. They didn't look particularly deep but were acquiring a sickly brown colour as if left untended.

"How?" he managed, biting back his worry and rage (which was mostly directed at himself). He carefully pinched and tugged up her shirt further to get a better look.

"Lovegoods," she explained softly. "I hurt my back when we escaped through the broken wooden floorboards."

He sucked in a breath, fighting the guilt. "Why didn't you tell me?" He couldn't hold back the complaint from his words. Surely she had to know that he cared about her deeply and lo...

He didn't expect an answer but exhaled tiredly as he took one step closer towards her. It was strange she hadn't pushed him away to rebuke him for crossing that thin line between them but he couldn't be more thankful. Looking down he noticed she was holding a small handkerchief. Carefully, he pried the cloth from between her fingers; she did not resist. There was a small wet spot on it that smelled like Dittany.

"I tried but couldn't see or reach properly," she explained, it seemed to hold something he couldn't exactly identify. "Nor could I waste a lot of potion- we have to save up."

Resisting the urge to turn her around and blurt out an apology or perhaps even a confession, he gulped down thickly. Who knew how hurt she had been when she had Harry escaped from Godrick's Hollow? Would he ever be able to forgive himself for leaving?

"May I?" he inquired tenderly and she gave him a small nod.

He dabbed the cloth on her wounds but soon realised that the cuts had been left unattended for two days and needed more ointment.

"Hand me the vial," he told her and she did.

"Don't use up a lot, we'll need it."

"You need it now."

The skin hissed and sealed as he poured small drops on every wound, but the ointment left behind raw, tender looking skin. As he took a closer look he noticed how her bra strap covered a substantial portion. Ignoring the soft stirring in his groins, as well as the jitteriness of his nerves for crossing that delicate line, he touched the soft cotton with his fingertips and heard her suck in a breath. He paused immediately but when she neither commented nor moved away he resumed. It was evident she had lost weight and the article no longer fit her as it was supposed to. He noticed a fairly deeper cut underneath the strap and wondered why she was bothering to have the ruddy article rub constantly over an unhealed wound. It had to be rather painful. Before he could overthink, he held his wand between his lips, and ignoring the mad thudding in his heart, careful enough not to touch the injured skin, pinched the strap between his fingers and unhooked it. The loose article slid off her shoulders and she clutched her arms against her chest, and let out an audible gasp.

"Ron!" she admonished quietly, without a bite to her voice, sounding rather shaky.

"Don't worry," he replied, after grabbing his wand in his left hand, focusing it on the cuts, sounding more confident than he felt. "I can't see you, Hermione, nor will I against your wish… but these needs tending to." It was evident that the constant friction of the bra had only made her injuries deteriorate further. He proceeded to dab Dittany onto the parts he had missed. "Why did you leave them like this for two days? Don't you know how bad they could get?" he scolded, before focusing the light to ensure he hadn't missed any spot. Satisfied, he took a small step back.

"Were they bad?" she asked in a small whisper.

"They were getting worse. Weren't they hurting?" he asked.

"They were..." she admitted.

"Then why didn't you-" he left the rest hanging as he breathed deeply.

Thick silence stretched between them for minutes before her arms went around and hooked her bra back and he swore softly under his breath before taking a quick step forward, removing her hands and unhooking the article again. Breathing deeply, he took a minute to steady his nerves before adjusting her shirt down to cover her up.

"Don't wear a bra," he admonished before quietly biting his tongue at the way it sounded, "I- I mean, you shouldn't let anything rub against them- the skin is yet to heal completely. Is this shirt soft enough? You could borrow one of my Chudley Canon ones if you want. They are rather old but soft as well," he added hurriedly.

"This is okay," she added slowly and he took a quick few paces back, feeling rather foolish. "Right," he said just to say something before he noticed he was still holding his wand which was lit. "Right," he said again, almost to himself, scratched the back of his neck and extinguished the wand. His brain seemed to have finally caught up and was playing the events of the last few minutes in a loop and he turned away, trying to remember why he had come down there in the first place. The tea, right, the tea...

He turned towards her again, noticing she was still standing on the same spot, facing away from him. "I got you some tea," he managed, before catching a glimpse of the two jumpers that lay on her bed. "I-I'll leave. Grab your jumpers, it's cold," he added, forcing his legs to move and leave the room.

Her arms reached out for her jumper and he would have turned away when she paused and called.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?" he replied, trying his best to ignore the jitters. Why did his name sound so different this time?

She seemed to pause momentarily before grabbing her shirt at the hem and pulled it off. He let out a gasp that he tried his best to cover with a fake cough. Her bra straps fell off her shoulders and she pulled them off too. "I guess, wearing one of your t-shirts will be better," she said in a small voice, still not facing him and he was sure his brain had momentarily forgotten everything before it kicked in. He jumped back and hurried towards his rucksack and rummaged through it until he found one sitting right at the bottom of the stack. It was very crumpled and old but the cotton was very soft and he was sure he hadn't worn it in a while and it wouldn't stink.

"Here," he handed it to her, fingers touching hers briefly as he forcefully looked away while she shuffled behind him. He turned back when he heard her casting a warming spell and sure enough, she had picked up the cup and was taking a sip, her eyes closed in pleasure as her fingers wrapped around the mug. His shirt was literally showing from underneath her two woollen jumpers, her hair all frizzy and messed up and he let out a small chuckled as his heart felt rather content and warm.

Hermione took another sip before lowering her mug and reaching him. She tiptoed, placing her warm palm against his cheek, that woollen sleeve sticking to his few-days-old stubble, and traced her thumb tenderly.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, her voice carrying a lot of melancholy, "I can't do this without you."

He placed his hand over hers, closed his eyes and exhaled deeply before meeting her gaze. "I swear I wanted to come back to you," he admitted.

"I know," she replied. "I feared I'd never see you again." She sniffed and made to pull off her hand but he had already wrapped an arm around her lower back, holding her close to him.

"It won't ever come to that again," he added as he took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. "I promise I'll never leave you again."

"-no matter what life throws at us?" she asked.

"No matter what life throws at us," he promised.